


Strength Training

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Sexual Tension, Strong Aziraphale, aziraphale is the koolaid man, aziraphale's puppy dog eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24523402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Five times Aziraphale didn't know his own strength and one time he did.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 219





	Strength Training

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @annathehank and @amypound for helping me brainstorm after my first outline disappeared. Thanks to @honestmabe for looking it over and correcting the many grammar mistakes.

Getting used to being in a corporation after existing in an amalgamation of reality was not going as smoothly as Aziraphale had expected.

First, there had been the embarrassing incident with the wings and the armory–not his finest moment, but at least it was only Michael and a Virtue there, not his entire battalion. Not like a few weeks after, when he tripped while reporting and….well….the angel had said afterward that they had been wanting a new office anyways, so no worries.

He was told that he wasn’t the only angel to have trouble adjusting– taking an angel composed of star stuff and Her Grace and Melodies and putting them into a body of stardust and earth and fleshy bits was a bit unusual. In order to fulfill his orders in Eden, to protect, guard, and guide the humans, he would need a corporation to stuff his true form into. Other than some– hiccups as he was told they were called– he felt he was doing rather well. He had no issue feeling things or speaking while in it, he could fly perfectly fine, and he was gaining confidence each and every moon that passed.

But then things like this happened.

Aziraphale stared at the hole in the wall of Eden, the result of a squeaking mouse he had adjusted his step to avoid smushing and then stumbling around the rocks trying to catch his balance until at last, he careened into the very wall he had spent weeks patrolling the top of.

Scratch that. He careened  _ through _ the wall, felt himself slide from the pocket dimension of Eden to Earth, felt the burning sun hit his eyes and face, and learned that it was hot and dry and entirely unsuitable for anything. Rearing back, blinking until he could see again, the angel stared through the gap he had made.

“Oh no.”

He eyed the stones, figuring it would be fairly easy to fix it before anyone found out... before a demon could get in.

The sky darkened and Her voice came down, focused on the Tree of Knowledge. “What have you done?”

Wringing his hands, Aziraphale turned away and hurried towards the commotion. It would have to wait.

* * *

Aziraphale paused and looked around, certain he had heard his name. But there was nothing around except for the same kind of trees he had been hurrying past for the last hour or more.

“Psst, Aziraphale, down here.”

Blue eyes drifted down, skimming the earth until they spotted–

“Oh, Crawley?”

The demon was in snake form again, something Aziraphale had not seen except for a few precious seconds centuries ago. This time he was much smaller, as he poked his head out from under a bush, measuring roughly the length of Aziraphale’s pinky to shoulder. Black and red scales were silent as he looked up at the angel, tongue flicking in the air. Then reality was remembered.

“Crawley, what are you doing here?” Aziraphale looked around before crouching. “The Host is here.”

Somehow, the snake was very expressive, shooting a look of misery and snark that impressed Aziraphale. “Yes, well, I know that know.” A thin tongue flicked out, his whole body swaying slightly. “Didn’t know that while I was napping the Heavenly Host would throw a party here, did I?”

The air was heavy with the feel of ozone and lightning. Wings, even in another dimension, shivered with the weight of it. The hairs on the back of his forearms, the back of his neck, began to tingle. Within a few miles, various angels strolled here and there, at least half a century of them. There were no Archangels among them, but even the Serpent of Eden would be hard pressed to take all of them without major injuries, best case scenario.

Snakes don’t have eyelids, but Crawley somehow managed to express closing his eyes in resignation. Aziraphale really should ask him for tips– usually he just resorted to nervous smiling and wide eyes to get his point across.

“Any chance of you telling me which way they are heading so I can meander the other way?” Crawley looked up at him, tasting the air again, and Aziraphale knew was struck then with the same mad idea as he had that moment in Eden, seeing Eve and Adam about to leave. It wasn’t decision making so much as doing what was right.

“Come on then, serpent.” With that he held his hand out.

“What.”

Pudgy, soft fingers waggled. “You can’t switch back without drawing their attention, can you? You’re not fast enough as a snake to get out before they sense you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Despite his flat response, the head was tilted curiously.

Afraid of offending him, Aziraphale rushed to reassure him. “Oh, I mean, you’re very silent obviously. And er, flexible.”

Did Crawley stick his tongue out at him? Surely not.

“I can carry you,” He pointed, flustered at the continued nonresponse. “That way. Away.”

They stared at each other for a moment, blue against yellow, and then that head was leaning against his palm, and those coils were looping around his wrist, up to his shoulders and resting his head there. Aziraphale stood and continued on his way, slightly faster and less alone.

It was miles later, almost out of distance of everyone, that Aziraphale was spotted. His name was yelled in greeting and then two angels were coming towards him. Aziraphale’s aura was covering Crawley’s, but it wouldn’t should they get too close. He looked back towards the cliffs he had been planning to launch from. Around his arm, the snake was loosening, preparing to– do something. Another angel appeared, too close too close too close–

He knew was on the other side of the cliffs, could smell the saltwater. “Well, take care my dear,” he said as he aimed. The demon didn’t even manage to let out more than a gasp of surprise before he was was pulled from the angel’s body and thrown hard.

However, he had planned for the resistance from a full sized body, not the aerodynamic smaller shape that Crawley actually was in.

Aziraphale only had a moment to wince guiltily as the speck disappeared into the sky before he had to greet the Host. At least he knew there was no way Crowley would fall short…

* * *

There was a knock on the door, and Aziraphale, expecting the innkeeper, opened it and stepped back to let them in.

His adversary strolled in and made a beeline for the bed.

“No, no, no, you can’t be here!”

Crawley lounged on the bed, smirk stretching across a smug face. “Well, well, well…what do we have here? Pretty nice digs, guess you finally got some of your miracle budget raised?”

“It’s not like that,” Aziraphale fiddled with the ring on his pinky. “Crawley, please, you need to leave.” He inhaled deeply, then let it out. “Or…”

“Or what?” The audacity of the demon, bouncing on leg atop the other, calm as could be.

“Or I’ll have to remove you myself.”

That got the demon’s attention. “Oh really? Now there is something we haven’t done yet.” Aziraphale tried to plead with his eyes. It didn’t work, the demon was looking at him quizzically. “What’s got you so nervous? Can’t an angel and a demon have a nice chat in peace?”

“Uriel and Gabriel will be here shortly after sunset. You need to leave.”

Crawley laid back down. “But I just arrived in Bethlehem. You wouldn’t want me to waste a trip, would you?”

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. “Crawley. This is my last warning. Leave now or I will make you.” He had been given the task to keep this room ready for when Uriel and Gabriel arrived with their charges, and he was not going to mess this up. Not even Crawley could thwart him in this task.

One long finger pushed hair from his eyes, trained on Aziraphale. “Then make me.”

For a moment the tension built in the room, a challenge was processed and then, Aziraphale dove for the figure on the bed. Crawley was just a smidge faster, rolling to his legs in a smooth movement. Aziraphale crashed hard into the bed and used his momentum to spring back up. He charged at Crawley again, managing to get one hit to a thin arm as Crawley angled away. The wily demon lashed out, one fist landing solidly in Aziraphale’s gut, making him wheeze for a moment. The angel kicked out, forcing his opponent to hop to the side, off balance. They danced around for several moments, hitting the wall often and each other rarely.

Eventually, Aziraphale managed to grasp Crawley’s shoulders and push him against the door.

No. Through the door. Then into the wall. Literally.

“What is going on?!” The innkeeper’s outraged voice echoed in the hallway. Both supernatural beings froze, faces inches from each other, and stared at her blankly. She gestured wildly. “What have you done?”

Aziraphale blinked and let go of Crawley, stepping back. Crawley took a few steps sideways, revealing a nice dent in the hall wall. The room’s door was missing quite a large piece in it’s middle–most of the door, in fact, was instead on the floor of the hallway. Inside the room, the bed was completely broken in two places, and the rest of the furniture had been toppled and stepped on at least once. There was also several holes littering the room.

The window outside showed a setting sun.

Oh no.

“We are fully booked! And this is how you treat your room? You will be paying me for your entire stay, but you will not stay, oh no.” The innkeeper was furious, screaming and yelling. Other guests peeked their heads out and wisely ducked back inside. Aziraphale looked for Crawley but he was gone, and before he knew it the innkeeper was snatching money out of his palm and shoving him out the door.

Crawley approached him again, some time later. Aziraphale was sitting on a hill, knees drawn up to his chest.

“I mean, hey, there’s always the stable yeah?”

* * *

Iceland was beautiful. Aziraphale had been lucky enough to be here once during the winter– only for a few days but long enough to see the frozen beauty, the expansive skies– and now he was able to experience the lush colors, the holidays, the way the water and mountains and scenery made his heart soar.

The people were wonderful too, if a bit too adventurous and rough for his taste. They at least had standards for cleanliness, and he enjoyed letting his silver gold curls grow out, get braided in the style of the region. Suffice to say, his assignment here was not the worst he had ever been given.

And now, he had his…well, a demon sitting with him. A demon that he had recently struck an arrangement with. A demon that was once again joining him for a drink, in this raucous, joyful hall that introduced him and his stomach to the delicious ollebrod that was sitting in front of him on the table, flanked with glasses of mead and water.

The red head sprawled in the seat across from him grinned before tossing back his tenth or twelfth cup too many. Aziraphale leaned in, wondering if it was practice or an unhinged jaw that allowed him to down the liquid that fast. Aziraphale watched the throat work, wondered if he could put a hand to it and feel, see if it was rough or smooth, warm or cool. How fast the pulse was beating, would beat if he rested the pads of his fingers over it, trailed them higher. Trailed them lower. Pressed down, slipped into that rich mass of hair.

Just out of curiosity, of course. No other reason.

Crowley pulled the cup away from his mouth, caught the bit of it dribbling from the edges with the back of his hand, the veins on his wrist visible as he drew his arm across his face. He let his grin fall open, exposing the slightly crooked fangs and too forked tongue. “Another!” He shouted, banging his glass on the table. He rested an arm on the table, sliding Aziraphale’s glass closer. “Catch up then, angel.”

Angel. Somehow Crowley calling him that had become different. Or maybe it was just the fizzing in his blood that was different. Or maybe it was the fact that Crowley was just Crowley, was here and there and everywhere. That Aziraphale was able to feel like he wasn’t the only one who understood humanity, who understood what Earth was like, didn’t have to hide his enjoyment of being outside of Heaven and being alone.

Well. Alone with Crowley, at least. Just him and Crowley and millions and millions of humans.

The cup was nudged towards him again, and he took it, upended it. It was not as graceful as the serpent had made it seem, but Aziraphale gave it a valiant attempt, ignoring what trickled down his cheeks, and drank all. When he lowered the glass, Crowley had fixed him with that burning gaze– one that never failed to cause a flush to appear on Aziraphale’s cheeks. It was a new look, one started sometime after Rome. A considering, pointed, hot stare that the angel desired and disliked in equal amounts.

Doing his best to stay calm, he wiped his own mouth the way his companion had and banged his cup hard on the table, the words “Another!” ringing through the air even as they were drowned out by the table shattering, small slips of wood shooting out towards confused patrons, cups rattling to the ground and a still warm delicacy in the middle of it all, crashing down and shattering on the floor.

Cup in hand, Aziraphale registered the silence and felt his face grow hot in humilation. He had to breathe many times before he raised his eyes sheepishly to Crowley, who was suddenly sitting straight up, glasses hiding his face, but legs crossed and shifting restlessly. Whatever expression he saw on the angel’s face, Crowley sighed and quirked a lip, raising a hand to let out a loud snap.

* * *

The Egyptian sun was hotter than Aziraphale remembered, or maybe he was just used to staying in the upper more continents now. He spared another small miracle to keep the sand under his sandals and not in them, and scanned the area for his fr– his target again. Successful, he made his way towards the shadow of the monument.

“Up to no good, I see,” he said casually, his tone absent of even an ounce of censure.

Crowley growled anyways, tossing another slab of rock towards the Sphinx. “And you? Spreading good?”

The angel’s only answer was a light hum, instead choosing to focus on carefully ease himself onto the sand; he tilted his head up at his adversary in title only.

Five more rocks were thrown before Crowley flopped down next to him.

“S’not my fault, okay?”

“I know.” Droughts and disaster’s weren’t Crowley’s wheelhouse. Crowley may have come here on an assignment, but he would never use something that would hurt people en masse to accomplish his means.

“They’re so hungry.”

Aziraphale thought back to the children he could count ribs on, adults with wrists unnaturally thin and rotting away. “I saw.”

With a scowl, Crowley jumped back up. “Then so, we all know She won’t help, and they are praying to this one–” he jerked a finger towards the stone monument, “– and still no one is actually helping them.” He draws his arm back and launches it as far as he can go. In the midday light, he’s still not even sweating, hair flaming and skin sunkissed. The lines of his eyes and mouth are tight and Aziraphale longs to reach up and smooth them out, draw his fingers around them until they relax.

Instead, he stands and picks up one of the rocks, the largest one in their area, weighing it in his hand. He feels the weight of Crowley’s regard on him as he deliberates, and then he gets a running start and lobs the rock, feeling his body go through the stretch of follow through. Crowley lets out a whistle as it sails through the air.

Neither are prepared for the mighty crack as it strikes true, nor for the rumbling shift of broken statuary breaking free and falling, with a muffled thump, in the sand.

Crowley turns to him, a small but true smile on his face. “Lunch? I know a place.”

“Well, if you insist.” Aziraphale demurs, resisting the urge to smile. “And while we’re there, I may just have an idea of how to, let’s say, thwart your pagan ways.”

That smile gets a little bit bigger, and Aziraphale feels more strength than he ever thought possible. Ah, he thinks, I understand.

* * *

Aziraphale had let himself have a home before, let himself settle down before, but never had he ever let himself be domestic.

It was more than divine.

Their cottage was a place for both of them, something so simple that meant so much. Oh, over the years they had each tried to give each other signs that the other was wanted. A couch here, a bookshelf here, small tokens and gifts exchanged with only falsehood explanations and wistful glances.

But now, they could unabashedly indulge in their desire to simply exist in the same place as the other. It thrilled Aziraphale even now, five years later, to see two dirty mugs waiting to be rinsed. To have a side of the bed and not an empty bed. The simple act of not being alone eased his soul, made his step light.

Breezing through the house, letting his fingers drift over the little knick knacks and odds and ends they’ve meshed together in this little place of theirs, Aziraphale works his way from the washroom to the outside garden. Crowley is standing on a small two step stool, a snarl working its way across his face as he points a finger at the branches of the orange tree.

Aziraphale feels the love in every part of his soul, and his steps are light as he makes his way to him. Crowley’s face brightens when he sees him, and as Aziraphale stops beside him, allowing those long, dexterous fingers to stroke his face in greeting. “Darling, are you almost ready to go?” He leans into it, lets himself take comfort in it.

“Almost, angel.” Crowley fixes the oranges with another stern look. “These oranges got a little high and mighty.” Those soft golden eyes flick down to his, and he teases, “Probably got ideas from how you talk to them.” Aziraphale snorts and taps his demon’s butt in retaliation. “They decided that instead of growing where they were supposed to, they get to grow higher than the stool reaches.” Crowley lets out a growl that has frightened angels and demons alike.

It makes Aziraphale shiver, but not in fear. He rolls his eyes and looks up at the absurd love of his very long life, lecturing oranges. This was his. He still sometimes couldn’t believe it. Idly, he measures the distance Crowley is angry about. Grinning, he finds it perfect for an idea that he has always wanted to do.

“– And if you even think about not listening– whoa what!” long arms wrap around Aziraphale’s head, fingers finding purchase in his hair. The angel turns his head to kiss one knobby knee, takes a few steps from the stool. “Aziraphale, what the bloody hell are you doing?”

Aziraphale wraps his hands around Crowley’s calves, pats them comfortingly. From his perch on Aziraphale’s broad shoulders, Crowley can easily reach the oranges he had been complaining about. He points this out, and Crowley splutters out sentence fragments and not quite words until finally he just shakes his head and lets a clear, light laugh explode into their home.

Blunt, dirty nails scrape over his scalp as Crowley reaches for an orange. “Grab the basket, will ya angel? What do you say to fresh mimosas in the morning?”

Bending easily to grab the basket, careful not to overbalance, Aziraphale hums in thought. “Why wait til morning?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a chat, months ago, in the Go Events Server where in I was struck with the idea of Aziraphale busting through a wall and saying "tickety boo". I finally got around to writing it.


End file.
